Overworked

by Dark Angel

  Cheers and hoots come from the crowd. Damn right that’s why they’re here. They want to see this for themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if they all come at once while watching me eat Mia out here in a few minutes.

  And this episode tonight? It’s going to be one of a kind. The audience doesn’t know it yet—nobody does except Mia, me, and the crew—but the entire encounter is going to be filmed tonight. Typically, the camera gets a shot of me moving in, then pans up to the woman I’m pleasuring, capturing the pure bliss on her face as I give her the orgasm of her life. But lately people have been questioning the show. I’ve seen it all over Twitter. People suggesting that the guests are faking it, that I’m not actually going down on them, that the live audience is paid off to say that I am.

  What a load of bullshit. My record is fucking unbroken. Not once have I ever gone down on a woman and come up anything less than victorious. The fact that these fuckers want to mess with my reputation and question my credibility pisses me off like nothing else. So we’re going to shut them up once and for all.

  Tonight the audience all across the country will see it all live on TV.

  Cutting my gaze away from the audience of horny, simpering, panting women, I glance around the set. This studio is fucking awesome. It doesn’t look anything like your typical talk show set. Yeah, we have a couple of cushy chairs, but everything else screams sex—the black and gray studio walls with bright pink accents, and the muted lighting that gives off a dark and mysterious vibe. It’s sleek, modern, and sexy as fuck. It’s my kingdom, and I’m about to make sure everyone knows I’m still the king of muff diving.

  “So these orgasms—” I begin again, but Mia cuts me off with a snort.

  “If that’s what you can call them.”

  I smirk. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Go on…”

  “They’re so boring, so routine, so...mediocre,” she says, seeming to forget her earlier embarrassment as her irritation with her less than stellar sex life takes over. “I mean, I never thought I could be bored with sex. But, Jake,” her eyes widen as if she’s horrified, “I am.”

  I cluck my tongue sympathetically. My tongue that is about to get busy. “Mia, I hate to hear that. Because if anyone should be having fantastic orgasms, it’s you.”

  I give her a knowing smile. See, Mia here runs a blog where she chronicles her exploits. I did my research—or rather, my protégé Toby did it and gave me the rundown—and Mia’s adventures on her blog have gotten worse by the week.

  “I don’t know, Jake,” she says miserably. “Maybe I’m just past my prime. Maybe the best sex of my life is behind me.”

  At this, I lean forward and grip her knees, squeezing gently. She gasps and bites her lip again, and I smile wider.

  “That’s total fucking bullshit, Mia. You’re in your mid-thirties. You’re just now hitting your prime for fuck’s sake. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” I look out at the audience, making sure my face shows just how earnestly I feel about this. “Every woman, no matter what her age, deserves to come really fucking hard as much and as often as she’d like.”

  “I’m losing interest in dating, to be honest,” Mia continues with a sigh, but her knees have fallen apart just slightly, and I haven’t moved my hands away. “I even want to get married someday. But I need to know if it’s me. I need you to restore my faith, Jake. I need to know that orgasms can happen for me.”

  “Mia,” I say, pitching my voice low and meeting her eyes as I let my fingers drift a little higher on her thighs. Her muscles twitch and her breath comes faster, and I know for a fact it’s not her. So I tell her. “You’ve just been sleeping with the wrong men. Tell me, what do you like? Do you like it slow? Fast? Do you like it hard?”

  Mia swallows, her eyes clouding with lust. “I like it slow at first.” Her hands drift to her throat involuntarily and her lips part as her breath hitches. “Then I like it a little faster. Maybe a little harder.”

  “Maybe?” I give her a wink and slide my hands even higher, not even needing to push her legs apart because they’re just falling open for me.

  A strangled moan escapes her lips. “Definitely harder.”

  I chuckle. “That’s what I thought.” I brush my thumbs along her inner thighs. “What else Mia? What do you want?”

  Her eyes close and her head falls back, and I take the opportunity to sink to my knees in front of her chair. The audience goes a little crazy, the energy in the studio thrumming through me, just like the blood that’s now pulsing through my own body making my cock hard and throbbing.

  Fuck, at times like this I really want to just wrap my hand around my thick shaft and make myself feel as good as the women I pleasure. But I don’t. I never do. This is about them, and I’m not a selfish bastard when it comes to sex. I’m a giver. I give and give and give. And then I give some more.

  The heat from Mia’s pussy is practically radiating out like a blazing fire, and I haven’t even touched her yet, despite the fact that she’s now pushing her hips forward, already lost in the moment, trying to make contact. I love that Mia agreed to have everything shown tonight. She’s not ashamed of sex, not like some of the women I’ve coached. She’s just bored. Well, I’m about to take her on the ride of her life.

  “Do you like it when someone sucks your clit?” I ask, since she’s already forgotten I asked her a question.

  All I get is a moan.

  “You know what I think, Mia?” I ask, ready to dive in. There’s nothing I love more than a soaking wet pussy, and I know Mia’s going to taste great. I push her skirt up and hook my thumbs in her thong, yanking it down in one quick motion. “I think your partners just aren’t taking the time to pay attention to you. They’re thinking about themselves and what your body does to them, not about how they can make you feel. They aren’t paying attention to your cues and reactions, so they aren’t hitting the right buttons.”

  Mia spreads her legs wide, and the audience is practically vibrating with anticipation. “Show me, Jake. Please,” she begs. “Prove to me that I can still have good orgasms.”

  Good? Fuck that. She’s about to have an orgasm that blows her fucking mind. I’m going to show the entire world that I’m one hundred percent the real deal.

  With the audience cheering me on, I sink my lips into Mia’s hot, pink pussy, and her hips jerk up at the contact. I don’t hold back. I’m pulling out all my tricks this time. I don’t have my reputation for nothing. I’m not the host of A Cunning Linguist because I give satisfactory head. Nope. I’m without a doubt the best in the world.

  I lick and suck and flick and plunge my tongue into Mia’s dripping pussy, gripping her hips to hold her still because she’s bucking and writhing like a madwoman. Her cries get louder and louder until she’s screaming my name.

  And the cameras capture all of it. My head buried between her legs, her quaking body, her pussy that’s starting to pour rivers of cum all over my face.

  The audience is going fucking wild like I’ve never heard them before. Glancing up at Mia’s face, I see her eyes roll back in her head.

  See? What did I tell you?

  Then she gives one final scream—my name of course—and her body lifts up off the chair, then collapses.

  I lean back on my heels and wipe my mouth on the jacket of my ten-thousand-dollar suit.

  Mia just fucking passed out.

  I look at the camera and flash my cockiest grin. That will show all the doubters and haters.

  Next thing I know, Toby is running over to help revive Mia. When she looks up at me with awe in her eyes, and says, “You’ve restored my faith in the existence of orgasms,” I think for a second she’s about to declare me the fucking messiah of cunnilingus.

  The audience reaches a fever pitch, and I wink for the camera. Once again I’ve over delivered on the promise of a mind-blowing orgasm. I am, in fact, the Cunning Linguist.

  Jake

  “Dude,” Toby says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That was fucki
ng insane.”

  I laugh as I settle down in my desk chair, unknotting my tie and throwing it across my office to land on top of the pussy-juice stained jacket that’s hanging over the arm of my buttery leather couch. This office is a total man cave. I spend a shit ton of time here, so I made sure my interior designer made it comfortable. It’s all dark woods and leather, dark gray walls. I even have a huge, heavy wooden bar imported from Germany off to the side with the most expensive distillations of scotch available.

  Kicking back in my chair, I prop my feet on the desk, crossing my feet at the ankles, and clasp my hands behind my head.

  “Fuck yeah, it was. Best episode to date. I dare those fuckers to question my skills now.”

  Toby pulls out a tablet and starts tapping away on the glass, no doubt ready to give me a breakdown of the show stats. We do this every night.

  “Man, the viewers loved it,” Toby says. “Fucking amazing. More people tuned in for this than any episode ever according to our analysts.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him and flash a smug grin. “Obviously. Did you have any doubt?”

  “Obviously not since it was my fucking idea in the first place, asshole,” Toby laughs.

  “You wish you were genius enough to think of showing me actually going down on the guest.” I love giving Toby a hard time. He reminds me a lot of a younger version of myself. He certainly doesn’t have any problem getting pussy on his own. He’s got enough of an ego to attempt giving me a run for my money with this show if we weren’t actually friends.

  He just rolls his eyes. “Whatever, old man. Without me you’d still be fighting off the trolls on Twitter.”

  “Fuck you,” I say with a laugh. “Old man, my left nut.” He’s, like, only five years younger than me. “You just stick around and maybe some of my skills will rub off on you.”

  “Speaking of Twitter,” his eyes are back on the tablet, obviously seeing something interesting enough to tear him away from our favorite pastime of giving each other shit, “we’re trending.”

  “As usual.”

  “Yeah, but tonight it’s all about how the show put it all out there.” Toby frowns a little, and I take my feet off the desk and rest my elbows on it as I lean forward. “Everyone has something to say about how we got everything on camera.”

  I shrug. I’m used to it, and I don’t care. The pearl clutchers are always gonna have something to say. Fuck ‘em.

  Actually, that’s probably half their problem. They’ve never had a good hard fucking. I should take the high road and offer them an opportunity to come on my show. Maybe these prudes out there just need to know how fucking awesome sex is. I laugh out loud at the idea.

  “Dude, seriously,” Toby says, cutting his eyes at me briefly before returning to scrolling through whatever shit Twitter is offering up about my tongue and I. “We’re probably going to get a fucking huge fine from the FCC.”

  “Whatever,” I scoff. “I can afford it. Besides, there’s no such thing as bad publicity, right? All this is going to do is give us even more viewers because we’ve effectively shut down all the cynics.”

  Toby looks at the tablet a few more seconds, then shuts it off and tosses it on my desk. “If you say so.” Then he gives me a taunting grin. “So, when are you going to step aside and hand over the reins of the show to the younger, more virile generation? And by that I mean me.”

  As if I had any doubt who the fucker meant. “Whenever I get tired of women screaming my name, asshole.”

  Toby guffaws and lifts his brows. “Maybe they’re just playing the part. Did you think about that? I mean, they're coming on live TV to have an orgasm. They could totally be faking it.”

  “And that cum all over my face every single night? They’re faking that too?” I point my fingers at him like two guns and wink. “Think again. Those pussies gush all over me like a fucking geyser.”

  “Fuck. You are one lucky Bastard, Jake.”

  I am. Not gonna lie. I’m a fucking billionaire because I’m a master at making women come, and I have them lining up begging me to eat them out night after night. Doesn’t get much better than that. “Maybe one day you’ll reach my level, man,” I joke.

  Toby and I go back years, and even though he works for me and we have a bit of a mentor/apprentice type relationship, he’s one of my closest friends. We give each other hell just for the fun of it.

  “One day? How about right the fuck now? And let’s make it interesting. A grand says I can pick up any woman out tonight before you.”

  I’ve never been able to resist a good bet. “You’re on. Loser not only pays up, but has to buy the beers as well.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Toby thrusts his hand out and we shake. "Hope you brought your credit card, bitch.”

  I laugh as I stand from my desk and we make our way out of the studio. I may have just had the best show of the entire A Cunning Linguist run tonight, but I’m still dealing with a fucking chub and it’s past time to find someone and get it taken care of.

  Layla

  Standing in front of my boss’ door, I lift my hand and knock. I have no idea why Lori is calling me into her office this early. I mean, I’ve barely had time to grab coffee and turn my computer on.

  “Come in,” Lori’s clipped voice comes through the thick wood.

  Wondering what kind of mood she’s in, I turn the knob and enter her office. It’s not that she’s a bitch. Not exactly, though some people would probably view her as one. She’s just worked really damn hard to get where she is. Working for the FCC can be fucking hard, and Lori’s had to prove herself every step of the way.

  I actually admire her. She’s pretty much reached the pinnacle of her career. She’s the top in her profession. I hope to one day be like her.

  Looking around the office, I find Lori sitting up straight behind her desk, looking perfectly polished and put together. This office could be an advertisement for organization. Everything has a place, and it’s always exactly where it belongs. I almost wonder how she gets anything done because her office looks so unworked in. But that’s Lori. She’s the poster child for a government official, a bureaucrat that is orderly to a fault.

  Lori doesn’t break the rules.

  Which is probably how she’s climbed to such heights with the FCC.

  “Good morning, Layla,” she greets me with a smile. For all her official-ness and nothing but business attitude, she’s still friendly with me. Probably because I work my ass off too.

  “Morning, Lori,” I say, crossing to her desk and sitting down gingerly on the chair across from her. It’s a bit stiff and uncomfortable, and I end up sitting as rigidly as Lori because of it. She probably chose the chair on purpose. I can just see her not wanting anyone getting too comfortable or making themselves at home. “What can I do for you this morning?”

  She dives right in.

  “Have you heard of A Cunning Linguist?” Her eyes narrow and her gaze sharpens as she scrutinizes my face. It’s like she’s trying to get a read on me.

  I nod, not sure where she’s going with this, but sure it has something to do with the FCC. Because I have heard of the show, and I can’t imagine Lori asking me to come into her office for some water cooler chat about a late-night talk show about sex.

  “I have heard of it, but I can’t say I’ve ever watched it.”

  Why would I? ACL is more of a self-help show than a talk show, and my sex life is just fine. I don’t need dating or sex advice. While I don’t really have time to pursue an actual relationship because my job keeps me so busy, I do get out and date. And I know what I like and I know how to get it. So yeah, my sex life is perfectly satisfying. I can have casual hookups whenever I want without the complication of anything else. I definitely don’t need advice on how to have better orgasms, so I can’t say I’ve actually watched the show. Though the self-proclaimed sex guru, Jacob Kent isn’t hard on the eyes. If I ever did watch the show, he’d be the reason.

  “Well that’s goo
d to hear,” Lori says, pursing her lips, looking for all the world like the mere idea of me watching the show is enough to make her nauseous. “That show is downright obscene.”

  I press my lips together, trying not to smile. I don’t know if obscene is the word I’d use, but Lori’s stance on the matter is clear.

  “They’ve gone too far this time, Layla.” She reaches up to pat her perfectly coiffed bun at the nape of her neck. I wonder what she’d look like if she let her hair down—literally and figuratively—once in a while. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without that severe bun pulling at her temples. “Look at this.”

  Lori turns her computer monitor to face me and clicks the little arrow to make the YouTube clip of what must be A Cunning Linguist start playing. Her mouth tightens into a firm line.

  “This was last night’s episode.”

  I glance at her and wonder for the hundredth time if she’s always been wound up this tight. She used to be married, from what I hear, but as long as I’ve known her she’s just been married to her work. If she’s this offended by a talk show about sex, I can’t imagine her sex life with her ex was all that exciting. I feel a bit of sympathy, but in the next second I forget everything else except what I’m seeing on the screen.

  I almost can’t believe my eyes. My mouth drops open. Because OMFG. Jacob Kent isn’t just going down on his featured guest of the night like he supposedly does every episode. He’s full on clam diving, and every fucking bit of it is on display for the world to see.

  Holy shit.

  As I watch the Cunning Linguist himself eat pussy like he’s starved, I can’t deny that there’s a little tingling going on between my own legs. Yeah, the man is sexy as sin, but the way he’s making that guest scream and moan makes me wish for a minute it was me he was getting a taste of.

  I cross my legs to relieve some of the growing pressure in my now throbbing clit as the guest’s eyes literally roll back in her head and she passes the fuck out.